Medicated
by this.pen.is.red
Summary: When you're a doctor, responsible for the loss of lives, all you can do is drink your life away at a bar. And maybe- with the help of love- come to forgive yourself.


**Medicated**

_When you're a doctor, responsible for the loss of lives, all you can do is drink your life away at a bar. And maybe- with the help of love- come to forgive yourself. _

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Gakuen Alice.

**Author's Note:** This story doesn't make _any_ sense. So... sorry. It's just that a lot of things have been happening in my life, and I didn't want to bother to write up something new, so I picked up something stupid I made already instead.

I'm gonna get to PMs and stuff later, but since Ash told me that she won't post until I do, I'm just posting for the hell of it.

_Such a long story._ And it didn't even end well. So I apologize. Please forgive me? :3

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><p>"Sir, the patient just lost consciousness."<p>

_Jesus H. Christ._ Oh, how he hated responsibilities. He looked up at his fellow colleagues, who in turn responded with a glare of eyes. The problem that arose when working with a bunch of rookies was that they all relied on him for help. "Time is running out, Mr. Hyuuga."

"_I'm on it._ Give me the NPA and OPA." Some of them shot him a venomous look, others wrinkled their brows in confusion. Finally, one of them bravely managed, "The…what?"

He rolled his eyes. The unprofessionalism of these people never failed to surprise him, even after the year and three months they spent working together_._"The oropharyngeal airway and nasopharyngeal airway?" They remained completely still, as a rock would in the fast-paced world. "…The things used to prevent the tongue from covering the epiglottis? Get them."

As his co-workers scrambled around worriedly in the background hoping not to get scolded, his eyes wandered around the room only to focus on the patient. The woman who passed out was middle-aged, and had an incredibly large mole deceived from her otherwise clean face. Hers was one of those faces that you would trust for directions on the street- but not enough to babysit children. She clenched within her fist a cheap pocket mirror- those that could only be bought in the tax-free shops of the airport. She must've had two or three children—

He stopped himself. Profiling people was an incredibly bad habit of his; one that many people suggested was the reason for his lack of social communication. He quickly changed his focus to the mirror in her hand, where his face was perfectly displayed.

Surprisingly, as closely as he observed it, there was no illusion that deluded from his actual self, no sign of a projection of the life he could've had. It was almost as if he could stand at a distance and see the incredible bags under his eyes, his messy hair that was rarely taken care of and his work uniform. He realized that a man like him was incapable of looking like a gentleman, so he shrugged off his physical appearance as only human.

One of the rookies shuffled over to him, and handed him the necessary equipment. "_Took you long enough._" He said, inserting the device with perfect precision into her mouth.

When performing something as this, it was almost a custom in his world to drift off into a dream. It was a kind of coping mechanism he had developed over the years of being pressured constantly. What was strange about it was that the dream always remained the same.

It was of his sister. She was alive and well, wearing her wide smile proudly. He recalled the last time he saw her like that in real life, as if it were yesterday- perhaps it could have been months, or even years. Either way, the relativity of time seemed to prove itself useful in this situation, otherwise the truth would have changed his perception forever. He'd always reach out to her, as the distance between each other enlarged little by little. But this time-for the first time- she mouthed four little words that he always knew, in the back of his mind, she would say.

"_It was your fault."_

She disappeared from his field of view, as he desperately attempted to catch a piece of nothing—

"SIR! The patient is having a sudden myocardial infarction and cardiac arrhythmia. What should we do?" The sweat broke out on his backbone. The interruption of his illusion was out of the ordinary, and he was caught in a surprise that left him unable to decipher what they said. He stood blindly, mulling over the information that was floating in the air. Finally, he understood it.

"Fuck!" He swore in pressure, "Give me the defibrillator."

"_It was your fault."_

People began rushing in the background, reeking of worry. Everything seemed a blur, and he began the procedure. The pressure in his semidetached mind and his sister chanting like the earlier nightmare sucked his blood dry as leeches would on a cold night.

"Sir, we're losing her." _No._

He kept going, despite the warnings from his surroundings. The adrenaline pumping through his body was nostalgic; the last time he felt it was when he was in the same position, but with his sister. After this realization, every act became more and more desperate as more time passed. _I don't want to be another murderer._

"She's gone, sir."

He ignored them. "C'mon, stay with me." _No more._

"She's _gone_-"

"No, she _isn't_!" Desperation called for blood rushing through his veins in haste, heart pumping out of control. A hand rested on his shoulder softly.

"She's gone."

_And it was your fault._

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><p>It was always a tradition to ingest massive amounts of alcohol as compensation for a long day at work. It was a competition of his heart against his brain, on which one would give to the alcohol first. And thus he sat, at the end of the bar, burying his head within his arms while waiting for the bartender to take his order.<p>

The bartender finally tended to him. "The usual?" Natsume laughed, understanding that he had come so often, he had a 'usual'. "Yes, please."

He systematically sipped some of it, and let it sink into his system. Staring at the cup for thirty seven minutes, recalled the earlier day- the death of the woman- and immediately it put him into a demoralized mood. To make matters worse, regardless of how much he wanted to rest, it was difficult to do so with a couple behind him simultaneously screaming at each other.

"She meant _nothing _to me-" "You're disgusting." "Look, I love you, babe. Don't leave…"

_Damn douchebag._ He took another look at the little bastard at the back with the superficial pretty-face. He shuddered, knowing that a man like him would probably screw around, having three different women each day. And here was yet another bad habit; he was too quick to judge. Perhaps- who knows- at home he could have been a family man.

"C'mon! You love me!" _Unlikely._

"Just… Leave me alone. We're _over_." The woman finally gave up. As she made her way to the bartender for her order, she stopped in her tracks. "Natsume? _Natsume Hyuuga_?"

A familiar, unforgettable brunette woman of about his age group stood before him, smiling despite her cheeks flushing furiously from her earlier argument. After a few seconds of no reply, she mumbled nervously, "Maybe not…"

"No, you're right." He widened his eyes so as to observe her closely. "Last time I checked, at least."

"Do you remember me?" She asked. He jokingly tilted his head in thought, smirking due to her shocked reaction. "Uh…Imai?"

She punched him playfully. "What are you doing here?" Her voice reminded him of the summer days they spent together under that tree; her non-stop talking, and his concentration to his manga.

"Had a bad day." He said. "What about you?" She raised her eyebrow, and pointed at the superficial jerk at the corner of the room. "Need I say more?"

"Touché." Upon reflex, he took another large gulp. He didn't know what came over him then. It somehow lifted his spirits to the point of obsession, reminding him of that past self that he decided to leave behind years ago. Because, after all, it was the girl that he fell irretrievably in love with, the woman who obliviously never acknowledged his feelings and dated some other jerk.

He left it behind himself for the reason that he couldn't face the world knowing this rejection. After it all, the only reminder of the enigmatic concept of love was his sister, who died in his arms. His subconscious still displayed a clear image of her accusing him of her death with her last few breaths.

"What happened today? You seem really down." She said, interrupting his train of thought.

He felt, by some means, that it didn't matter what he said after that moment. The alcohol definitely got the best of him. So, bluntly and frankly, he quickly said, "Honestly? I killed someone today at work."

Surprisingly, she didn't look shocked. "Ha, I did hear you were a doctor now." She smiled at him, "But you tried your best, and that's what matters most."

"I'm a paramedic. And… I wish it was that easy. But no matter what you or anyone else says, I'm a murderer." As an afterthought, he murmured under his breath, "At least, that's what she said in my dream."

She looked again at him without a single trace of shock or surprise. Her face nearing his, and he was able to fully breathe in her aroma. "So, why did you become a doctor- I mean, paramedic?" She winked. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

He stopped, for this was the question that was difficult to answer directly. But, looking right at her innocent face, he gave in inevitably.

He took a second to think. Really, it was difficult to tell. When he entered medical school, he knew that it was the right decision. Perhaps it was the malevolence of the world, making him feel as though he was the only one to help it. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, he started from the beginning.

"A few months before we graduated, Aoi insisted on driving me home after a long extensive hour or so of furniture hunting and we got into a crash. She was bleeding, and I was probably the only one to help her. But I didn't know any of the technicalities, nor did I have a phone. I desperately tried to help her, and-" He choked, not believing even himself that these words existed within his mind, much less were exiting his mouth. "I only made the situation worse. And in the end, she died."

The truth was that he wanted to help others to live, and someday be enough for his sister to purge his sin of letting her die. He was the murderer, just as he knew all along. But he wanted to change. In fact, he was so incredibly lost in his dreams and goals that he started abhorring the face in the mirror a little more each day.

"…I guess I wanted to stop hating myself for what I did that day."

Natsume watched them go. Each and every person that he failed to save- it could've been hundreds, dragged into the grave unrewarded. He always knew it was his fault.

That was why times like these were the hardest. A helpless stranger had their life taken from them in his accord. And… he just didn't want to think about it.

"Today's patient… Did she remind you of Aoi?" She paused, looking up to the flickering bar lights. "You loved your sister so much, Natsume. That's why you did it for her. Right?" She breathed, bending over to emit a sudden powerful whiff of lavender.

Playfully, he wished to forget about the painful subject. In order to do so, he detached himself emotionally from the conversation, using technical words that sometimes, even he couldn't understand. _Bad habit number 3_. "Don't you know? Love doesn't exist. Love is just a strange sensation caused by chemicals of the body working together. Norepinephrine, passing through the frontal cortex of the brain to the locus ceruleus, and towards the cerebellum. Serotonin which passes through raphe nucleus, and goes through the sleep centers to affect the minds of poor little naïve souls at night, who-"

"And when you say 'poor naïve soul', you mean people like me? Oh, c'mon…" She interjected, a smile creeping on her face.

"Exactly." They laughed mutually, and he realized that there was a warm feeling that overwhelmed his chest. Just when he decided to desensitize himself, she found a way to draw them back in again.

"I know you don't want to talk about it. But you know, she doesn't hate you. And I'm sure the person who died today doesn't, either. They're probably happy, _so happy_, that you worked to your utmost potential to help them. I believe in you, so please don't blame yourself." She wrapped her locks behind her ears, her eyes glistening in the low synthetic light of the bar. He looked up at her in surprise.

"Because to me, you're the bravest person in the world, Natsume. So give yourself some credit."

He realized that he never had anyone actually _listen_ to him before. No one ever really wanted to know about his life. But somehow, he felt that she trusted him and likewise, he poured his whole heart to her, for the first time in a long time.

Taking a moment of silence, he gazed out at a seat at the back. The empty seat seemed to grin back at him eerily, seemingly optimistic. But behind the grin, held something much darker: feelings of purposelessness, desolation, death. It was somehow inviting him, representing his inner fears, and he cringed in silence. As he was about to take a few more sips of alcohol to ease the tension, she placed her hand on his, gesturing him to stop. When she did so, the chair wasn't as frightening as it was perceived before.

Her hand was warm and assured. And suddenly he knew. All he wanted was for someone to believe in him.

Suddenly a ravishing, irresistible desire to kiss her came over him. Perhaps it was his alcohol intake being far from idle; or perhaps it was sheer indulgence. After all, his mind was shot with absolutely no common sense and sudden feelings of being understood. He basked in the silence, laughing to himself for being so blind all along. _She was what he needed._

Time passed and soon they were the only ones, aside from the bartender, in the room. Realizing this, they both decided mutually that they should head home. As she stood up and swiftly picked up her purse, she turned to look straight in his eyes.

She didn't look up to him or down at him. In fact, she just _looked_. Not as a murderer, or as a hero. As a _person. _He never had someone look so directly into his eyes before, and knew immediately why his tempestuous soul had fallen for her in the first place.

"Maybe you can give love a try."

He couldn't avoid the small smile that found its way to his face. "Maybe."

Then, they parted slowly, strutting off confidently, realizing they'd said enough. But something stopped him before leaving the room, feeling warmer than ever before.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" He called after her, and she turned around.

She smiled contentedly. "Of course."

Those two words that he heard from her were enough. Just enough, to penetrate his system and change him completely. Love, or some other strange nostalgic feeling rushed through his veins, stronger than what any chemical could possibly forge.

_Is she what you need?_ The answer to the ultimate question was so fucking clear. _Of course._ He finally believed in himself, and he left that bar as a different person.

He held that knowledge- the memory of that one night- as tightly, and securely as once might clench their a ring in their fist: not the kind of gem given by a beloved individual but even more valuable- found by chance on the street, hence having more strength and magic.

Such were the different emotions- not chemicals- that resided in his one little heart.

Emotions that, up until recent, he didn't know he had.


End file.
